


i love you the best

by malikjaureguis



Category: Faking It (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, idk - Freeform, just a really stupid fluffy thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1523963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malikjaureguis/pseuds/malikjaureguis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s in these moments that Amy remembers why Karma means so much to her." — amy/karma</p>
            </blockquote>





	i love you the best

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't really a big and/or dramatic piece - i just kind of wanted to write a sort of fluffy-ish piece. it's pre-show, so it's not even romantic...i don't know. i have a better fic in the works, but this was something i just kind of wanted to write.

She gets Karma’s text at three o’ clock in the morning on a Sunday, and even through her sleepy stupor, Amy knows just what she has to do.

She’s up in a second, rushing to her mother’s bedroom door and banging her fist in desperation against the cracked wood.  She doesn’t even bother to get into presentable clothes (it’s not like she sleeps naked, her Snoopy pajama shorts and concert tee cover everything that needs to be, and besides, Karma’s parents wouldn’t care even if she did show up naked), doesn’t bother to even toss on a pair of shoes.  She just goes straight for her mother’s bedroom, and when there is not an immediate answer, barges in to see the glamorous Ms. Raudenfeld in her nightly attire, which consists of a satin nightgown, a sleep mask with faux diamonds, and a lot of fucking face cream.

It takes an argument and a dramatic display of stomping feet akin to a six-year-old’s tantrum, but thank God Amy’s mom isn’t a total Hitler figure because she grumblingly gives a “call me when you’re there” as she lays back down.  It takes Amy maybe two seconds to run out the door and down the stairs (not even tossing a “thank you” back, because in all honesty, there’s nothing she’ll ever thank her mother for).  She practically catapults herself into the garage and onto her rusty bicycle, but once she’s on, she’s moving at the speed of light.  Maybe faster, because Karma needs her and nothing will ever make her move faster than Karma’s call.

She manages to make it to Karma’s by 3:23, much later than she would’ve liked.  She welcomes herself in (because Karma’s parents never lock the doors), taking the steps two at a time.  Karma’s door is shut tight, and the crumpled “Only Amys Allowed” sign she manufactured out of purple crayon and a Whole Foods receipt when they were eight hangs limply from a strand of duct tape on the door.  Always one to follow the rules, Amy lets herself in, and closes the door tightly behind her.

Amy can hardly make Karma out through the mountain of snotty tissues strewn across her bedspread, but she sees the tiny head and the watery eyes poking through soon enough.  With no hesitation, Amy is crawling under the covers with her, and wraps her arms round Karma’s shaking frame.  Karma digs her nails into Amy’s arms as her face settles itself in the crook of Amy’s neck, fat wet tears already soaking into Amy’s shirt.  Amy’s body is filled with a feverish need to make Karma better, but what is painful is that this is not a pain easily cured with ice cream or a Johnny Depp movie marathon.  The only thing Amy can do is hold Karma against her and reassure her that everything will be alright even though it won’t be, and it fucking kills her to feel Karma’s shaking body against her and know this is all she can do.

After Karma seems all cried out, the two of them are left just lying there on Karma’s bed.  Amy has both her arms wrapped around Karma in a protective vice grip, and Karma’s head is resting halfway between Amy’s shoulder and her chest.  Her mascara is pooling at the corners of her mouth, and she’s still sniffling, but other than that she is relatively dry.  Amy would shift her position, but she can see the sickly green color the tissues beside her are tainted, and just, no.

“Hey.”  Amy shimmies her shoulder a little to get Karma’s attention, and the girl in her arms looks up with wet doe eyes.  “You wanna get a pizza?  Domino’s is 24/7.”

Karma sniffles, smiles.  “If you’re ordering.  And you better not mess up my order.”

“Have I ever?” Amy says with her own little quirk of her lips.  “You’re so fucking nitpicky, it’s hard not to know your order.”  Karma laughs, but it’s filled with phlegm and she immediately has to hack into a tissue.  Cute.

The two of them end up in each other’s pajama pants, reclining against Karma’s bed as her laptop is open to play _21 Jump Street_.  A large pizza rests between them - half cheese, half pepperoni with little anchovies crushed up right into the sauce.  It’s four o’clock, and Karma is laughing.

“You’re disgusting!” Karma whisper-yells, giving Amy a look of both bewilderment and gratitude for the distraction.

“What?  It’s a genuine question!”  Amy is hardly able to respond through her own laughter, which she tries to hide behind a grotesque display of chewing with her mouth wide open.  Karma presses her face into her hands, stifling the groans and laughter that erupt from her mouth.

“Would you rathers aren’t supposed to be that gross!” Karma mumbles, hiding her embarrassment in her palms.

“Uh, that’s the whole point!”  Their voices are nearing yelling volume, and Amy slaps a hand over her mouth to quiet herself before repeating, “So, c’mon, would you rather have sex with Jonah Hill or the creepy coach guy?”

Karma lets out a long, disgusted groan, face flying up to glare at Amy.  Her cheeks are a plump cherry, and she looks ready for murder, minus the smile in her eyes and on her lips.

“Ew.”  she says.  “Amy, I’d sooner have sex with you than either of them.”  Surprised, Amy chuckles nervously (her stomach flutters, and she can’t explain why).

“Whoa, okay,” she says, holding a _not so fast_ hand up in the air, “I’ll pass.”

“Excuse you,” Karma snobbishly exclaims, hand flying to her heart in mock offense, “I am a prize to be won.”  The two of them meet eyes, and then Karma proceeds to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively, which prompts Amy to fall over laughing and Karma to fall atop her.

 

They end up laying on the floor together, heads next to each other and bodies sprawled out in opposite directions.  The movie has since been paused, and the pizza box scraped of every last shred of gooey cheese.  Amy’s clunky wristwatch glows 5:04 in an obnoxious bright green, and in Karma’s dark bedroom, it’s virtually the only light.

She feels Karma shift beside her, turning over on her side so she can see Amy properly.  Amy adjusts herself so she’s in the same position, resting her head on her fist as she observes Karma’s face in the dark.  The other girl’s eyes are still somewhat puffy from her crying, and her button nose bears a subtle red.  There’s a twist in Amy’s gut to see her friend in such a state, even if she hasn’t properly cried since Amy got here.

“Amy.” Karma whispers her name almost like it’s a prayer, and Amy feels her heart perk up as well as her ears.  Karma edges her fingers to Amy’s free hand, running her thumb over Amy’s knuckles.  “I love you the best.”

Amy’s smile is small, and hard to see in the dark, but it’s still positively radiant.  “Back at you, you big dumb.”

“Seriously, though.” Karma says, and her eyes are bright.  Her mouth is a straight line, no smile to be seen, and Amy’s own falters.  Another twist in her gut, but it’s a different feeling now.

“I love you a lot, Ames.” Karma whispers, like it’s a secret, like Amy doesn’t realize this already.  “I mean, like, I love my family too, but you’re the literal best.  If I could have a sister, I’d choose you.  And then Katy Perry, but you’d def be first.”  Amy lets her eyes fall as she laughs softly in the dark.  These moments between them are Amy’s favorite thing about them; the fun that they have is truly unparalleled, but it’s the moments in early hours of morning, after everything has settled and the laughter has subsided, that matter the most.  It’s in these moments that Amy remembers why Karma means so much to her.

“I love you the best too, dummy.” Amy says, because she can hardly be serious in any situation.  Karma’s smile, it sends Amy to the brink.  And then Karma lets out a yawn that overwhelms her whole face, and that’s when Amy notices the bags underneath her eyes.

“I think you need to sleep.”  Karma shakes her head as another yawn cripples her.  Then she nods, defeated.

They both climb into Karma’s giant bed together, lying so that they face each other.  Karma’s hair falls over her half-lidded eyes; Amy’s fingers tingle as though she wants to swipe the strands away.

“I love you,” is the last thing out of Karma’s mouth before she completely slumps into the mattress.  Amy chortles to herself.

“Ditto, dummy” is the last thing out of Amy’s.


End file.
